


Leave me to dream.

by ForReasonsUnknown (orphan_account)



Series: Of Spitfires & Love Songs. [9]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angst, Bad coping mechanisms, Death, M/M, This is not Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 14:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ForReasonsUnknown
Summary: Collins is 22 the first time he sees a man die.





	Leave me to dream.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off the Imagine Dragons song 'Dream' and is horrifically short, so I apologise. I will hopefully be getting out a lot more stuff this week (maybe some Christmas stuff thats a little less depressing) so look out for that. As always, kudos is much appreciated, and if you enjoyed this, please let me know down in the comments. Constructive criticisms are always welcome. 
> 
> (Also: Some shameless self promotion here but I just got a new Tumblr account, the name is aggressively-bi, and I may start posting some writing to there. Mainly though, if you'd like to talk about these two bastards, or just shout abuse at me, then thats the place to go)

_And all these sorrows I have seen,_

_They lead me to believe,_

_That everything's a mess._

 

_But I wanna dream._

 

Collins is 22 the first time he really sees a man die.

He's seen men crash from a distance, seen planes go out of control, seen them erupt into flames. 

But this is _different_.

It’s his second flight, the war having barely even begun, and yet there he is, in the sky above France, fighting his way home with limited fuel. He’d been expecting it for weeks, waiting for it in a way that made him sick to his stomach. A German fighter comes in out of nowhere, already trailing smoke, but from the way its flying, Collins knows they aren't all going to be going home. The fighter seeks out its target, and its over in seconds, a short burst of fire, the German plane finally succumbing to its own injuries, but the wounded Spitfire isn't far behind. A sense of numbness overcomes him when he watches the pilot’s - Anderson, the same age as him, his pregnant wife waiting for him a home - plane ignite, spiralling helplessly out of control, smoke trailing behind him. He doesn’t feel anything either, when a few seconds later, the plane explodes as it hits the battlefield far below them, a tower of black smoke rising rapidly. Collins does feel something when he hears the man screaming. Screaming at them for help, then in pain as the flames reach him, begging for it to end. Then, just before contact is cut off, a mangled cry for his mother.

Collins feels relief.

_Relief that it wasn’t him._

He returns to base throughly shaken, standing in silence as his leader explains to those waiting for them on the ground what happened, an unexplainable weight taken from his shoulders when he is dismissed, turning sharply on his heels, unwilling to face the look of pity in his SO's eyes. He walks without thinking, bypassing the mess, where he could likely find some comfort through a game of cards, or friendly conversation with men whose names he didn't know to take his mind off it, to silence the sound of Anderson's screams still echoing around his skull. Instead, his feet carry him to the room he’s currently sharing with Farrier - not exactly allowed, but the brunette had insisted after Collins had gotten himself into trouble with the men in the barracks - eyes fixed to the floor the entire time, locked into some kind of stupor.

The room is empty when he enters, but that doesn’t matter. The sound of engines and the smell of grease is somewhat muffled here; the quiet giving him a fleeting moment to just think. Collapsing onto his bunk, he pulls his pillow over his face, eyes clamped shut, and body wound tight. And, just for a moment, he’s not there, there’s no war.

There's nothing.

He’s nowhere.

It's just a dream.

An illusion to make the pain go away.

But its better. Better than watching friends die in flames, watching others try to forget that they ever even existed. Better than having to put on a brave face, better than having to uphold the lie that the war is fruitful, that they’ll be done by Christmas. Because it’s not, its a fucking disaster and Collins isn’t sure how much he can take. How much more death he can witness, how much he can _cause_.

How many more lies he can tell.

“Collins?” His entire body jolts, whipping around to face Farrier, who is standing by the closed door, hands raised in surrender, a concerned look on his face. There’s also a new cut above his eyebrow that isn’t bad enough to need stitches, but has stained the area around it red with dried blood. He considers asking about it, but he decides not to, instead closing his eyes again, pillow resting on his chest. Farrier looks him up and down, nodding to himself before sitting himself on the floor beside Collins’ bed, facing away from him, back leaning against the mattress.

“Anderson died,” Collins murmurs, voice cold and seemingly devoid of emotion, when in reality, it is the exact opposite. “He was burnt alive before he finally hit the ground, cried for his mother,” He continues, and Farrier doesn’t react, impassive as always. “An’ all I felt was _relief_.” Collins' voice is harsh, because he's so disgusted, disgusted by himself. Farrier inhales sharply, picking at a loose strand of thread in his trousers before speaking.

“Relief that it wasn’t you?” Collins’ silence answers the question perfectly. And Farrier turns to face him, one arm rested on the thin mattress, hand brushing against Collins’. “There’s no point to it, any of it,” This gets Farrier’s attention, the brunette’s eyes trained onto his face, immovable.

“They kill one of ours, we kill one of theirs, the war carries on and it never stops.” Collins stops, because he sounds so pathetic, and he knows this war must be fought, but he’s not strong enough, he’s not- “There will be, one day, I think,” Farrier states, voice faraway and distant, one of his fingers lightly tracing Collins’ wrist bones.

“There must be.” And it’s irrational, and Farrier seems to know that, something lurking in his eyes. The man is far too intelligent, far too strong to be swayed by propaganda and feel-good stories. Silence stretches out between them, as they both take in the lie they are telling, the lie they are living in order to stay alive. “I’m relieved too,” Farrier says, voice quiet enough that Collins strains to hear it. And for a moment, Collins wants to ask what he’s talking about, but then it hits him, just as Farrier speaks. “That it wasn’t you.” The clarification hits Collins like a train, and from the look on Farrier’s face, he’s feeling the same way.

“It might be one day,” Collins blurts, and Farrier shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “Will your illusion survive that?” It comes out harsher than intended, but Farrier doesn’t react. Collins realises then that this is something Farrier has thought of before.

“No, I’m not sure it will,” Farrier’s finger’s lace with his then, and Collins is hit by the urgency he always feel whenever he’s with Farrier. The need to do as much as possible with each other, to say everything that could ever be said, because one day, it could be one of them that doesn’t come back, that dies screaming for their mother in a cloud of black smoke. “And will yours? If its me, will your dream of getting away from here survive that?”

Collins’ silence answers for him, and Farrier sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to Collins’ hand, before resting his head on the mattress at an angle that is clearly uncomfortable. Collins pushes his fingers into Farrier’s short hair, and finds the dream he’d been looking for. A one that he and Farrier seemed to share.

And maybe this one, this slice of serenity would survive all the horrors and fire the war could throw at them.

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO: to anyone interested in becoming a beta reader for me that would be much appreciated, I have no one atm and it would be great to have someone do that. Either contact me through here or on Tumblr if you are interested, and we can go from there.


End file.
